#20: Coming at you from a brand new location

Phew! I'm moved. Finally.

I've moved out of my townhouse in the city (which I already miss - sniff sniff) into an apartment in the suburbs. I don't have a roommate anymore either (sniff). It's just me, myself and I.

But I do have a heated garage, which will be awful nice come 3-feet of snow, a balcony, which has all the pleasantness of a yard without the laborsome lawn-mowing, and a conveniently located Sir, who lives the equivalent of two or three city blocks away and also lets me do my laundry at his place for free (as opposed to paying a buck for washing and another for drying in my building).

I love the idea of moving: being in a new place where I can start over, fill with new furniture and decorate any way I want. But I absolutely abhor the act of moving. Spending an entire day with your loved ones as they heave and haul your belongings up three flights of stairs (or up and down an elevator as was my case, thank goodness) and trying to direct the boxes (which all look the same and seem to have multiplied in the truck) to where they need to be is not an ideal way to spend a Saturday. (But I do appreciate every second of help!!!)

Poor Sir and Troubadour. They moved the same day I did and then came to help me out, bless their hearts (a new term I learned from Sir's Mom). They left with bruised arms, legs and hands, sore knees and backs, and an intense hatred for my sofa.

My sofa is an old sleeper sofa my parents have wanted to get rid of for years. It weighs a ton (and then some) and is an ugly brownish, orangeish red, but it's the only sofa I've got. And the one I want from Ikea is about $700 too expensive. Besides my sofa is apparently the greatest couch in the world to sleep on. Several friends and family members have likened it to sleeping on a cloud. Ok, I may have exaggerated that a bit. But Slayer and Mav's little brother both liked sleeping on it, I swear!

So the sofa was moved, despite my parents' attempts to leave it on a curb in St. Paul. However, after watching Sir and Troubadour wrestle it up to my apartment, even with the elevator, I'm thinking the apartment it is in now will be its final resting place. Troubadour has refused to sit on it at all. Ever. I'm going to have to get him a bean bag or something.

Tomorrow is the Big Grocery Trip. The trip everyone has to take after they make a move because they took as little as possible from their old fridge to bring to their new place. I've been living on Cream of Wheat and Kit Kats for the last week. And no matter how hard I try, I just can't convince myself that that is the type of diet on which I can continue to survive.

Tomorrow is also Halloween! I wish someone I knew was throwing a costume party. I LOVE coming up with a costume idea and getting all dressed up in something I could never wear any other day of the year. Last year I was a Greek goddess. (Has it been a year already? That party was the first night I introduced Sir to all of my friends... awwwwwww.) I wish I could dress like a goddess every day. But then the mortals might become jealous.

Sir and I were going to go to a party on Friday, but we were both so exhausted from the move last weekend and an icky week at work that we decided vegging sounded like a more suitable plan for the evening.

So I've got no actual plans for Halloween this year. And I just realized that small costumed children may be knocking on my door expecting candy. Huh. I may have to add that to my grocery list.

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